Night
by seven years
Summary: The day Harry Potter was vanquished, the tiniest part of everyone’s souls died along with him." DracoGinny. One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** JKR owns all things related to Harry Potter.

**A/N: **A first attempt at angst, derived by And All That Could Have Been by the Nine Inch Nails on repeat. (Although the song has virtually nothing to do with the story.) Enjoy, and review.

  
  
  
  
**Night**

  
  
  
  
  
The day Harry Potter was vanquished, the tiniest part of everyone's souls died along with him.

Wide, dry eyes stared at an empty battlefield splattered with drying blood. 

  
" We must surely be dreaming." They murmured with feigned hope, because the air smelled of fall, the dying season, and it _was _real.   
  
  


All the world laughed at the irony of the death of the Boy-Who-Lived. 

  
  
  
**

  
  
  
It wasn't long until she came crawling to him. Biting her lips until her pearl white teeth were stained with blood, he kissed her, just the way she wanted him to.

  
" To fill our empty voids," Was her explanation, always. 

  
And sure enough, when she stared into his eyes, he saw nothing but cardboard brown.   
  


Spindly, spider-web fingers wrapping around his skin like an early November frost; she fit into him like a snug glove fit the hand—and together they defined the epitome of everything that was considered taboo—together, they were bitter perfection.

  
  
And no matter what atrocious time of deep night, no matter how thick the air hung around their bodies, she never shed a single tear. 

  
" Cry," He would sob desperately. " Show me that you're real." 

  
  
But her pale and beautiful face remained a statue. 

  
  
  
**

  
  
  
It was also a kind of darkness that seemed impenetrable. He recalled that the time they spent together must have spanned only for a single night, for there had not been a single ray of sunlight while he held her in his arms, though in reality—how many years had they kept at this mindless farce? 

Pretending to breathe when there was nothing to breathe in, she remained with him as if she had no other choice, as if she would find a kind of savior within him. He had nothing to give her. 

  
  
" Take me."   
  
And one night she offered herself to him willingly; almost forcefully. He watched the pale moonlight wash over her naked body, blood red hair caressing her shoulders. 

  
  
  
The evening quickly turned into a fury of feigned passion, wanting to reach a climax that wasn't there. And when he was deep inside of her, dizzy with a feeling he could not describe, he felt her lips brush past his cheek.

  
  
" Tell me how he died." She whispered suddenly, on a whim. Her voice was hoarse and cracked. He trembled and hurried on, constantly moving, always moving.

  
" He—He died on a vast battlefield." He stuttered, closing his eyes to grasp the memories floating just past his reach.

  
" How?" She repeated breathlessly, clinging to his shoulders now. She hadn't seen. Why did she want to know, now? Why did she need to know? Pain wracked his body as he struggled to remember a day that already seemed to long away, wrapped in black and white and red.

  
" A-A soft voice called his name. A l-long, pale finger beckoned. H-he followed. There w-was a…battle…. He was…im-impaled on a silver s-sword." He shuddered, his head hanging as his eyes blurred with tears. She pressed on, their movements becoming frantic now. _So close…_

  
" And his last word?" She asked weakly. His face hardened as he remembered that, too. He wished he didn't. It was a moment or two before he found the voice to answer her. It was a moment or two before he found the strength to shed a light of happiness in such _impenetrable dark_.   
  
  
  


" Ginny." He nearly sounded regretful.

  
She blinked once. He watched her hands clasp her heart. 

  
  
  
  
He didn't make a single sound as he came that night, their fevered rocking slowing to a stop. 

  
  
But she—she moaned out a last prayer to whatever god or deity existed up in the heavens, before shaking uncontrollably and falling limp on the cold bed.

  
  
" _Harry_…." 

  
  
He closed his eyes, savoring the sound of the name. The name that was not his. He bit his tongue, knowing that his name would never be so sweetly uttered by her lips, never be treasured as she did those two syllables…. 

  
  
But her brown eyes were no longer flat and empty. He relished the raw pain and emotion that she now harbored as she desperately clawed at the bed sheets, searching for peace of mind. 

  
  
  
  
They had filled a void. 

  
  
  
  
And when the night was finally over, he found nothing but a tear-stained pillow, clinging to the last strands of red hair.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
